So nothing can be done?

By LAWRENCE BROWN

December 28, 2012 - 2:00 AM

Over and over we hear the same argument. "Global warming ... the massacre of innocents ... yes, it's a shame. Nothing new really. The world has been deeply flawed and likely always will be. Things are more subtle and complex than they first appear. Attempts to instigate big fixes only backfire and make it worse. Small, nibbling adjustments around the periphery of big problems may yield some improvements, but don't listen to idealists. They'll just screw it up even worse."

This week, 1.7 billion people celebrated the birth of the world's most famous homeless person. Meanwhile, Federated Church in Hyannis filled with Cape Codders attending the annual memorial service for the homeless who've died in our woods and streets this year. Last year, we lost eight. This year, we lost more than double that. Jesus said the poor would always be with us. So was he saying that nothing can be done? Hardly.

Some 70 percent of every word we have from Him involved compassion for the poor and nonviolence in our daily lives. Faith is neither timid nor cautious. It demands transformation — starting with ourselves. How else can we consider the problems facing us than as opportunities for transformation?

Of the world's 23 wealthiest nations, 80 percent of all gun deaths and 87 percent of all child gun fatalities belong to the United States. To which the National Rifle Association replies that the only effective solution is to further weaponize the American public. They call for armed guards in every school. Legislators in six states have already introduced proposals to permit teachers to pack side arms in their classrooms. Imagine.

There's a connection between the funerals from Sandy Hook and our memorial to the homeless. Since 2009, hard-pressed states have cut over $4 billion from public mental health services. Every budget is a moral document. Either the suffering of our mentally ill is a priority or it isn't. Either having people dying on our doorsteps shames us in some way, or it doesn't.

After all, tragedy happens. People go off their rockers, some with guns. Everybody dies, after all, and sometimes they're homeless. Is anyone so unrealistic as to believe that we can create a tragedy-proof environment for ourselves? "Get real," we're being told with either a sneer or a sigh. It could be worse.

And that's the whole point. We can either work for transformation — or we can plan for ever-deepening dysfunction. I'm negotiating a visit from a school in India but they have concerns about whether the United States is a safe destination for their children. Imagine that.

So we have to ask if transformation is a reasonable goal. The early Christian martyrs faced horrible deaths with such serenity that even their sadistic audiences inquired into the nature of this different courage for the first time in their lives. Gandhi convinced 750 million people to expel their colonial masters nonviolently. We are not children. We know how deeply flawed humanity can be. That is exactly why we must ask for what we most deeply want. If we ask for less; we'll get less. And we already know that getting less ultimately breaks our hearts.

Steve Brown, a brother in our local interfaith coalition, defines evil as not only convincing others to do despicable things, but to feel good about themselves while doing it. If that is true, then its opposite is to convince large numbers of people they can be better than they ever dreamed — and to help them formulate plans of action based on their remaining their best selves.

The European Union is an example of a belief-supported, long-range accomplishment. It was born amid European revulsion at the horrors of their two world wars. Now it is threatened not by new market forces, as severe as they are, but by the collapse of their self-belief. A new generation no longer believes the idealism of their parents' generation is possible.

If every person on Cape Cod donated a mere dollar each month, we'd have $3 million to help each other out. It is possible to live in an America that takes care of its own — its homeless, its unemployed, its mentally ill. Jesus said, "He who lives by the sword will die by the sword." It is possible for us to put down our swords. But do we want to — and how badly? In the end, that is the only question.